Elegy

A poem by Christie Collins.

2023

Months--Poetry
Poetry

en-US

text

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Christie Collins_Elegy.pdf

Copyright protected by Christie Collins. Use of materials from this collection beyond the exceptions provided for in the Fair Use and Educational Use clauses of the U.S. Copyright Law may violate federal law. Permission to publish or reproduce is required.

Note on transcription: This transcription may not reflect the poetic form established by the poet. Please refer to the PDF file of this poem available in the Files section for proper formatting.

ELEGY

Out of the blue woods,
a kitten wandered our way.
Hours later, she died.
We placed her small body
in a pencil box.
We said goodbye, and we meant it.
We covered her with earth and leaves,
orange and yellow, and moved on
until spring brought us back to the same spot.
There, while digging a place to plant a post,
my father unearthed the forgotten grave.
I stooped to the ground amid the browning
underbrush and lifted the cardboard box,
opening the lid before anyone could warn against it.
What should have been nature at play,
dissolving flesh and fur into shapeless matter
was instead nothing but dust and discoloration.
No bones or body.
It was as if the animal had simply chosen
another fate, rising, rounding her back
in a deep stretch before chasing a lightning bug
or horsefly to the next farm.
I’ve come to think of you in this way:
that maybe just after we left you to rest
on the saddest summer afternoon,
you awoke and decided to instead visit distant
relatives, first in Ipswich and then Nepal,
finding reason after reason
to never come back home.
Maybe just as I say this,
you are walking toward this poem.